


no one's perfect

by verity



Series: tween wolf [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Makeover, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott never asks for favors, which is why she says yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one's perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



Scott never calls Lydia, which is why she picks up, stepping into one of the bathrooms downstairs and closing the door behind her. "Calling to give your regrets?" she says. "You're late by a few hours."

"Sorry," Scott says. Lydia can see him now, the way he ducks his head and goes all shamefaced, which is more effective than the full-on puppy eyes most people give her. "I just—I have to ask, like—this is a pretty big favor."

Scott never asks for favors, either, which is why she says yes.

—

Lydia's house is big, and during the summer, her mother's always up at their place in Tahoe or down visiting Lydia's aunt in Marin. So she rattles around the place by herself most days, fights with Daphne when Daphne deigns to make an appearance, keeps up with the Calculus I course she's taking online over the summer. Jackson takes Lydia out in the evenings, to dinner, to the movies, to fool around in his bedroom; he doesn't come over to hers. Once every few weeks she throws a party, watches the downstairs flood with the less objectionable _hoi polloi_ of Beacon Hills High and spill out onto the patio.

"Allison—she used to go to school with us, in sixth grade." Scott pauses. "Do you remember her?"

"Braids," Lydia says immediately. "Terrible sweaters. She was in orchestra with me."

Scott huffs into the phone. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Anyway, Allison, she's like a sister to me."

There's only one person Scott talks like that about: the unfortunate blemish on his social life whom Lydia, despite her best efforts, has given up on trying to remove. "Like Stiles?"

"No, not like Stiles." Thank God. "But she's family."

Lydia toys with the guest towels on the rack in front of her, neatens them, tucking the ends under and smoothing them back into perfect rectangles. "Fine," she says. "I'll give her a trial run, anyway."

—

Allison Argent grew up model-thin and gorgeous, all sharp cheekbones and elegant lines. Her hair's a wreck and Lydia's pretty sure those are Wal-Mart jeans. "You had such nice hair," she says, taking the chair across from Allison. "It's a pity. I think we might be able to salvage it."

"Excuse me?" Allison says.

Lydia likes her already.

—

They go to Jean-Luc, who's done Lydia's hair since she was in elementary school; he clucks his tongue disapprovingly but says, "I can work with this."

"This is my treat," Lydia tells Allison while Jacques turns the butcher job on her head into a pixie cut. "Do you need a wardrobe, too, or are you capable of providing one? Those jeans are a travesty."

"I'm a little confused about the Princess Diaries makeover," Allison says.

Lydia sighs. "Scott and Jackson—my boyfriend—are the co-captains of the lacrosse team. Do you know how important lacrosse is to Beacon Hills? They are the two most popular boys in this school, and being seen with Scott means you'll be seen with me. Stiles is enough of an embarrassment. You're acceptable."

Allison narrows her eyes. "Stiles is my friend, Lydia."

"What a martyr," Lydia says. "Jean-Luc, a little shorter in the back?"

—

They pick up a few staples from Nordstrom, shirts at Anthropologie, and jeans from the Lucky Brand store; after that, Lydia needs a margarita break to cope.

Daphne's chief virtue as a sister is that she is willing to refill the wet bar, and now that she's 21 and not flashing a fake ID, it's even legal, aside from the providing-alcohol-to-minors part. Lydia changes into a bikini before she pulls out the Patron and the mix she picked up at Williams-Sonoma so she can dish them up some drinks on the rocks. "Come on," she says when Allison looks hesitant. "SPF 75 and then we'll hit the pool. This is what summer is _for_ , Allison."

When Allison's in her new swimsuit, a bizarrely conservative one-piece that's barely long enough for her torso, it's obvious that she's all muscle—not a model's build, hidden under those cheap, saggy jeans, but an athlete's. "What sport?" Lydia asks.

"I'm an archer," Allison says. "Rifle, too. Marksmanship."

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Do you compete?"

"I used to," Allison says. "When I was a kid, not anymore."

"So you just like shooting things?" Lydia says.

Allison flinches.

Lydia changes the subject.

—

The next morning, Lydia gets up at nine; Allison's doing some kind of tai-chi/yoga routine in the back yard when Lydia looks down from her window. She must be an early riser.

Well, no one's perfect.

Downstairs, Daphne's sitting at the counter in the kitchen, staring into a bowl of Kix like she's waiting for a response. Her violet hair's pulled up in a messy ponytail, and the drooping collar of her faded Nine Inch Nails t-shirt exposes a matching bruise on her neck. "Classy," Lydia says, pursing her lips.

"Hate you." Daphne pokes at her Kix, stirs the bowl with the tip of her spoon before taking a bite. "Who's your friend?" she says through a half-chewed mouthful.

"Scott's friend," Lydia corrects her. "She's crashing here for a little while."

"Tell her not to park behind me," Daphne says before resuming her cereal stare-off.

Lydia hates to admit it, but sometimes her sister's pretty great.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
